


Conversing with Madness

by zerolli



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Age Switch, Alternate Universe, M/M, Slow Build, Undercover, older will graham, pre- chesapeake ripper, younger hannibal lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-11
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerolli/pseuds/zerolli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU : Adopted by his uncle Hannibal Lecter hadn't imagined America being what he had expected it to be. It wasn't the concrete jungle like everyone had made it out to be, nor was there an entrepreneur at every turn. People fell into categories which could be dealt with easily. Then there was Will Graham, who didn't. Perhaps it isn't very wise to pick at problems, but young Hannibal Lecter could never refuse himself the opportunity presented to him. However this one leads a lot deeper than his hypothesized.<br/>----------------<br/>Officer William Graham going under cover to help exploit of an operation of illegal substances (as far as the police know) in a local boat-yard. There he gets hired by Robert Lecter to maintain his dying motor boat, and unwittingly gains the attention of his nephew. Who like it or not will probably screw up the whole investigation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invitation

**Author's Note:**

> I admit that I screwed around the with the whole setting - and geography. It's AU. As far as the changes in characters I wanted to account for both of the character's differences in age. Hannibal might be more open and less shielded, he is also much less experienced and more on the blood thirsty side. Will is not drowning yet, and somewhat unsure still. I hope you still enjoy reading it nonetheless.

"Hannibal, pick up your feet when you walk." Uncle Robert intoned crisply, his own shoes dragging through the Louisiana dirt. The rubbing against the debris had worn down his outer soles far more than it did to Hannibal's shoes. They taught him to walk in the orphanage, how to stand. Uncle Robert could take a lesson, Hannibal knew that the reason why he reprimanded him on it was because he couldn't place him when he walked out of sight, so he tried to err his gait so he would hear the distracted shuffle of steps. 

"My apologies, Uncle." 

There was no further discussion on the subject, nor was there any extra sound made. Robert Lecter's mouth pursed together tightly as he picked up pace. 

"Is there a reason why we're going here to get Roxanne fixed? I'm sure any shop would have more qualified workers."

Roxanne was Uncle Robert's motor boat, he was trying to get her prepped for another vacation he had been conspiring to have in the summer with Lady Murasaki, (and conveniently) leave him alone to his devices. 

"You know why." Uncle Robert drawled. "Because the rates they charge service is always too damn high."

_Not with how deep your pockets go._

Tongue in cheek they walked on. Robert on occasion clearing his throat roughly, trying to catch Hannibal out of his mulling. 

The area itself was soggy, the dirt wasn’t drenched, but it still clumped together from the passed rain. It was difficult to discern the rain from the usual wet smell of the city. At first it all smelled of overflowing sewage, but eventually his nose became more aware of differentiating odors. 

“You know, we could probably get your car fixed for a decent price as well.” 

Hannibal didn’t want anyone’s paws in his automobile. Especially someone who couldn’t get employment anywhere other than a boat yard. His uncle might have made his fortune with pinching pennies, but paying a professional to perform their trade was hardly a squalid investment. 

Eventually the two reached the gates of the proprietorship, a gaunt individual stood at the mouth of the entrance, newspaper crinkled under his elbow. 

“You Lecter?” He asked. Hannibal could smell his cigar ridden breath from where he stood; he fought off the instinct to pinch his nostrils together. 

“I am.” Uncle Robert nodded, trying his best to give off the aura of a benefactor. Even this man’s underdeveloped olfactory receptors could probably smell the money roll off of him. 

“This your kid?” He motioned to Hannibal, who neither shrunk nor hesitated to reply.

“Nephew.” 

"You don't have to correct everyone Hannibal." Robert mentioned. 

"Funny name." The walking nicotine addiction grunted, repositioning a folded copy of the Weekend Bugle under his armpit. 

He had a number of retorts, one look at his uncle however told him to hold off. 

"Who do you recommend for the job?" Robert asked, eyes wandering into the boat yard as if to pick out who would have their fingers jammed in the 'engine-that -couldn't'. Roxanne, as Hannibal had come to understand, had a tendency to pull off feats only spoken of in the bible. Where she would cease motion, then resurrect some three hours later only to sputter into silence once again.  
"Pers'nally." The thin man confessed. "I'd go with Will. He gets his shit done, can fix up yer boat real nice."

Robert grimaced at the language, not because of its lack of purpose, but more on the side that he didn't understand what was said. He never did quite adjust to it.  
The proprietor however didn't see it that way, worried that he was about to lose his side project he called inside the yard.  
"Graham! Get yer rear over here!"

It didn't take long for the called worker to hobble over to the three. He was about Uncle Robert’s height, thinner, though to be fair, it was hard to make a fair assessment due to the amount of layers he had on. The most distinct feature were the pair of spectacles pinching the bridge of his nose, enlarging his moss colored eyes, making him look downright owlish.  
However the eye contact that he kept briefly quickly became distant. _He was watching the background as opposed to them._ Anxiety?

Eventually his eyes dropped to his hands as he wiped the grease off with a matted handkerchief. 

“Graham can fix anything, ‘ad him workin’ here for two months now – never ‘ad a better worker.” Howard (as it was embroidered hurriedly on his sleeve), the boss grunted, patting Graham solidly on the back, to his credit, Graham didn’t move an inch. 

“So what do you think Mr. Graham? It seems your employer thinks you’d be cut out for the job of tending to my Roxanne.” 

Graham’s face soured, for a pure second Hannibal thought the man would tell his uncle to ‘shove it’, as the Americans put it. But the bearded man bit his tongue and answered as honestly as he could muster: “Probably.”

“Probably?” Uncle Robert laughed. “There is uncertainty?”

Graham took off his glasses and pretended to clean them to let him disconnect from the conversation further. This man disliked, or at least avoided social interactions as much as he could. 

“I have not seen your boat. I can’t say much until I do.”

Uncle Robert smiled, so much so that his teeth peeked through his lips. 

“Perhaps you should. Would you be willing to come tomorrow after your shift to take a look at her?”

Graham swallowed uncomfortably, throat clenching. 

“That would be alright.” He intoned curtly, once again looking away. It was a far too often action to attribute to a lack of manners.

Uncle Robert nodded contently. “We shall expect you at 7:00, 2 Agincourt Avenue. It’s one of those corners.” He demonstrated, by slapping his hand against the other palm. Graham jolted a bit at the sound. 

The worker nodded slowly. 

* * *

Plans are meant to be so. Plans, once charted, followed through upon. But it seems that in terms of William Graham that wasn’t the case. Hannibal just trampled into his room after classes when the phone rang. Both his aunt and uncle were out, conflict arose whether or not to pick up the call. He didn’t have any colleagues, nor was expecting anything for himself. 

Despite this he entered the office next to him at picked up the receiver. “Lecter residence.” 

“Hello, this is William Graham” Hannibal recognized the name. “Hello Mr.Graham.” He acknowledged. 

“Yes – it turns out I can’t make it tonight at seven. I can however come now – would it be reasonable?”

Hannibal measured his words. “Yes. I believe so.” 

“Good.” Graham hung up, leaving Hannibal holding the dead end for a moment. 

It wasn’t long before an unfamiliar gray pickup wheeled into the driveway. The teen went outside to meet the mechanic, only to be rushed half way there by a peach colored creature. Which he could only assume wanted a piece of his face with the tongue hanging out of its mouth. He still wasn’t used to people keeping their dogs off leash. Didn’t matter if this particular dog could barely reach his shin. 

“Mason.” Called Graham, clicking his tongue against his teeth. The dog stopped and bee-lined for his master. 

“Don’t mind him. He’s only a threat to pigeons and your choice of rodent.” He reassured, scratching the dog fondly behind the ear. Then pat his rear and the dog oddly enough obeyed without hesitation. 

“Where’s the boat?” 

Direct, to the point. There wasn’t any fuss, or small talk about the weather being pleasant. It’s probably what impeded on the man’s career success. 

“In the garage.” He nodded to the large separate structure on the side. Walking forward he led him inside the containment, with a flick of the switch the lights spurred into use. Yellow light shining down on the vehicles, most covered with cloth to prevent dust accumulating on top of them. 

“How much do you charge Mr. Graham?”

The mechanic made a dull noise at the back of his throat as he observed Roxanne in all her antiquated (as far as modern technology saw her) glory. 

“Your uncle pays my boss a fee. I get two percent added to my salary. Call me Will.” 

“Alright. Will.” Hannibal tested the name, it became less formal, but with man it didn’t bother him. 

Looks like his Uncle Robert didn’t need to be present to pay. If you could even call two percent pay. Will leaned over the boat to get a look at her. Climbing inside he observed the engine, unbolting the top to look inside. 

“It would be cheaper to buy a new boat.”

Hannibal joined the other man, sitting on the opposite side to peak at what he was analyzing. 

“What’s wrong with it?”

Will smirked lightly and tilted his head communicating ‘what isn’t?’. 

“These parts aren’t in circulation any more. You have a relic.”

Hannibal stopped himself before he scoffed. “My uncle is sentimental when it comes to the matter of his boat. He is unwilling to part with it at all costs.”

Will eyed Hannibal slightly below the face. “That won’t save it. The engine needs to be replaced soon.” 

So he could fix it, temporarily at least. 

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” Hannibal pointed out. Will’s eyes met his briefly, then fell straight back to the motor. 

“See too much, don’t see enough. It’s hard to concentrate when all you can think is; are those whites really white? Or they must have hepatitis, or is that a burst vein? So yeah, try to avoid eyes as much as possible.” 

Hannibal wasn’t deterred by the response. Though this did rule out a portion of autism, or at least what he had read on it previous to this. If anything, he hadn’t met anyone who was this observant of others – his uncle could claim that his powers of deduction had helped him amass the fortune that he had, but really it lay with a good choice of broker and a hand of steel. 

“How long have you been in this profession?” He ventured, it wasn’t often he was engaged with a conversation lately. Might as well take advantage of the moment given to him. 

“All my life.” Will replied softly. 

“Really?” Hannibal took a look at Will’s hands. There were worn down, but there weren’t as much as the other mechanics he’d seen. 

“The callouses on your hands say otherwise, it looks more like you’ve had a job that required writing more than holding a wrench.”

“I took off time for college.” Will excused. He didn’t seem offended, he was preoccupied with his work – head lost somewhere between the power head and the exhaust of the boat. 

“Why the change of heart?” Hannibal pried, leaning in to look at what Will was doing, curiosity seeping in. He tilt his head so that he wouldn’t block the light. 

Will looked at him, for the first time making eye contact. It ended just as quickly as it came.

“What do you mean?” 

“To get an education and not act upon it.” The teenager supplied. 

Will thought briefly before responding. 

“Things change. You might find yourself wanting to deviate from your interest in medicine.”

Hannibal lifted his gaze from the engine to the man. “How can you tell I’m medically inclined?”

Will reached for a screw driver from the tool box he brought in with him. 

“You volunteer at a hospital, your name tag was still on your coat yesterday.”

The answer had been so simple it almost disappointed him. His assertion had hit him when he didn’t expect it, he almost expected some sort of insight into his behavior. Psychology was a field he was curious in it. But this was just his own sloppiness making itself known. 

He usually removed the coat room label when he got dressed. But with the vigor that Uncle Robert fetched him it escaped his mind. 

“You enjoy it?” Will asked, placing the handle of the screw driver in his mouth as he lined up the cover, and reattached it. 

“Yes. It’s an interesting profession.”

Will made a strange hum, causing Hannibal to furrow his brow. 

“What?”

“Most people talk about much they want to help people. Something tells me that’s not why you like it.”

Hannibal let that slide, he knew better than chasing that thought. But he had to say, on a level he impressed him. Despite his position he could read others fairly well. 

“Did you find out what’s wrong with it?”

Will nodded, putting away his tools. 

“The spark plugs are damaged, wires too. How long has it been unable to start?”

Hannibal thought back, it hadn’t been in use his entire stay with his uncle. 

“More than a year.” He answered truthfully. 

“Waited a while to get it fixed.” Will concluded, picking up his tools he jumped out of the boat. 

“Where are you going?” Hannibal queried, following suit himself. Both exited the garage, locking it for precautionary measures.

“Picking up replacements.” Will looked down at his wrist to look at the time that had elapsed since his arrival. “You’re welcome to join me so that your uncle knows what costs to cover.” 

Hannibal looked at the pickup with distaste. “Don’t believe there’s any room left.”

“Could always stick you in the back. Or get rid of some limbs.” Will joked. Hannibal’s lips pressed tighter together, resisting to show his appreciation for the somewhat cruel humor. 

Barks echoed as Mason ran to his master with as much vigor that Hannibal seen Franklin Froidevaux consume a block of cheese. 

“I prefer the front if it’s all the same to you.” 

Will nodded in agreement.

In retrospect, he should have been more prepared for the speech his aunt and uncle would give him about getting into cars with strangers, but if he was honest – he had no fear that he could probably dislocate the man’s jaw faster than he could draw a knife or gun. Besides, Will wasn’t an aggressive, or especially persuasive persona. 

Jumping in the front seat, Mason followed suit – lounging on him. Hannibal petulantly tried to roll the dog off. Being in close quarters with an animal had never been on his list of favorite past times. Especially for his sense of smell. 

“Just toss him. He won’t mind.” Will commented as he started the car.

Hannibal tried to do as was suggested, however the dog didn’t budge, it purposefully stayed put – the second attempt earned a squeaky growl. Will looked at the mutt with a waned glance, the dog scooted off his lap. But it did sit primly between the two, muzzle straight ahead. 

Hannibal didn’t know what he had earned its distaste – especially with such limited interaction. 

“Seatbelt.” Will directed as he stretched the gray strap over him and into the lock. Shuffling his hands to the wheel he waited until Hannibal complied. 

“A bit cautious aren’t you?” Hannibal teased, he had every intention of following through, until Will said it. Now either it was teenage rebellion, or just his own nature peeking through that he didn’t want to do it. 

“It’s the law.” Came the blunt reply, Will watched him steadily through his thick frame glasses. 

“And because it’s the law, it must be carried out?” Hannibal asked, pulling the seat belt on, Will chuckled as he started the car.

“Ideally?” He looked at the teenager next to him. “Yes.”

Backing out of the moon shaped drive way, they got on the road. Will didn’t turn on the radio, nor did he do anything significant to relax within the vehicle. There weren’t any personal effects in the car either. Some people kept photos or hanging effects off the mirror. The only thing that Hannibal noticed that was misplaced was the map book hazardously tossed underneath the glove compartment when he got into the car. 

“So why do you hold to the law? Surely someone of your profession is grayer on the matter.”

Will judged what he said, and after a deliberately sharp turn responded. “Wouldn’t you be? Say a patient needs a transplant, do you let him die because he’s on a waiting list? Or do you go through other means?”

“Redirecting the question towards me isn’t going to earn you a tip.” Hannibal joked, it was a bit childish, but one could hardly blame him for that.

“I don’t need anything from your piggy bank.” The corners of Will’s mouth twitched upwards as he said this. That action alone inspired a laugh to bubble out Hannibal’s chest. Mason moved away on instinct.

“There is no boar bank.” Hannibal said through his snickering. 

“Boar bank?” Will’s question thickened Hannibal’s laughter. Whatever the reference was to, it flew over Will’s head with ease. He had a teenager crumbled in the front seat and he had no way of knowing how to see if he’d burst into another array of merriment. 

“Which field do you want to specialize in?” Will asked, in attempt to change the subject. 

“I aim to be a surgeon.” Hannibal replied, composing himself. It was rare that he should laugh in the presence of others. William was easier to communicate with, nor was he excessively intrusive, he stayed at a distance, personally speaking. Most people he knew tried to introduce themselves as much as possible. Will sat back, let the silence lay where incessant gibbering on the weather would have taken place. 

The ride to the shop was fairly uneventful. Mason did try to take a finger of his when he undid his seat belt when the parked. The dog was a nuisance. It was then when he learned that he wasn’t Will’s only dog. There was also Tiberius, Winston, Gable, Curie and Sodium. The small army of canines waited for him every day, while helping themselves to the remains of his home. Hannibal’s mental image of Will’s residence all worked up to be a massive tumble of scraps and hair.

Though he should have guessed that he had more than one, considering the way his clothes smelt. 

“How do you feed them?” 

Will shrugged as if uncaring to the implication. “I manage to.” 

There wasn’t anything left for him so it seemed, Will Graham was hungry. Hannibal could relate to the feeling. 

The search for spark plugs turned out to be a much more troublesome effort than Hannibal theorized. First it involved in confirming, re confirming, if the part was in stock with the clerk in the front. Hannibal was impressed with Will’s patience with the teen, who was at most a year younger than Hannibal himself.

“Look man, I don’t know. I mean we used to, but that was a few months ago!” He couldn’t quite meet Graham’s eyes, keeping his own downcast. Wasn’t this a turn around? 

Will cheeks caved in. _Trying to keep calm Mr.Graham?_

Hannibal leaned against the counter trying to look like he could be doing ten other more important things. It wasn’t far from the truth. 

“You have them. You keep glancing below the counter whenever you mention them. It’s a pain to do paperwork for parts that are at least five years out of circulation, lets get this over with.”  
The boy’s mouth hung open, trying to form a justification. Hannibal’s reaction was one of sheer satisfaction, after having the pest jerking them off for about fifteen minutes be left with no out was justified. Though this was yet another correct assumption that Will seemed to pull out of thin air. Picking up the parts, sliding them on the counter, and went to the back to get the necessary forms. 

“How did you know?”

Will spun the package in his hands to get a look at it in his hands. “I used to come by this shop a lot. I know what they have on a usual basis. But even if I didn’t, it was pretty simple to tell he was lying.”

It was simple. However Hannibal knew that his uncle would never catch on. Neither would anyone else he knew. They’d take it at face value. 

“You are wasted as a mechanic Mr.Graham.” Hannibal uttered as he looked at the condiments offered. Many synthetic flavors of gum, along with about thirteen different assortments of candy bars. 

“Who in your mind would I be if I wasn’t?” Will scoffed. 

Hannibal turned to him. Observing how the older man seemed to steel himself off, trying to seem unreadable, as if not curious as to what he had to say. 

“Something other than.” He replied, he knew it wasn’t an answer, wasn’t meant to be. 

* * *

They arrived at the house soon after. Parts in hand, and Mason locked in the car. Hannibal was still running over the question, what would Will be? He could take quite a few guesses on the subject, all could easily fall flat on their figurative faces. In a way the answer that he wanted to give was, ‘like me’.  
Or at least share similar perspective. 

“Is your door usually open?” Will enquired, catching Hannibal successfully out of his thoughts, his eyes shooting for the heavy wooden door should be. In its place was a hall of light, contrasting to the diming light of the outside. He moved quickly, running towards it. The small car that belonged to his aunt was parked, so she was home. It didn’t matter if she just came home, or was in the process – she wouldn’t leave the front open for any reason. 

“I told you, you can have anything in the house- there’s nothing”

“I want the codes to the safe in the living room.”

“I don’t know those!”

The hair on Hannibal’s neck rose at the distress in her voice. He quickly, and as quietly as possible removed his shoes to catch the intruder off his game. 

“You. What are you doing?” Raising up his gaze he saw the disguised wonder pointing pistol in his direction. So much for his cat like grace. Could rush him, with how much the gun shook he’d never connect the first bullet to anything vital. Still the distaste for the idea that he could get damaged with a pea shooter such as this brought up all sorts of resenting moods.

He slid across the stone floor to his aunt, who immediately welcomed him into her arms. She was safe, that much he was content with. 

“You have no idea who you are dealing with.” Hannibal warned. He could get out of this, all he needed to do is find the burglar’s weak side. Then he could strike upwards, and disarm the man with a single blow below his hold of the firearm. 

“I’d be careful with how you mouth off. You know, I see punks like you every day. Rich, and so goddamn arrogant.” Hannibal’s eyes caught the movement of gray at the doorway, using his peripheral vision he could discern what he was sure was Will’s coat moving by the entrance. 

He refocused his eyes on the invader, who was still going on about the values of the avaricious american adolescents. In all honesty, if Hannibal wasn’t going to end his life, a burst vein might. If anything he would be doing a service. 

“I’d be careful and consider your next move.” Will ground out. Hannibal could hear his own tone be played back at him, his eyes rounded. Will stood behind the masked figure, a steel pipe in hand, pressing against the back of the man’s head. It could very easily be mistaken for a gun. It also gave Will the distance he needed if it didn’t work out. 

“Who is this?” 

“Does it matter?” Will drawled a little. His words slow, lazy as if he had decided on his elimination from the start. A shiver ran through Hannibal as he watched it unfold. He saw the reality of Will Graham against the delusion that he crafted before their interactions. It was safe to say he favored this version far more. 

The burglar tried to turn his head to get a look at his attacker, Will responded by pressing the pipe harder against the skull. 

“Drop you weapon.” 

There was hesitation at first, but he followed through, bending down he placed the pistol to the ground and straightened his back, hands held in the air. There was something professional about this. Usually people when confronted with this situation panicked, or got their orders out of place. But Will kept himself under control, neither his movements nor his voice wavered. He had an experienced hand in this, Hannibal could tell. Quite a bit more than he did. A coil started to wind in Hannibal’s chest, he wanted to explore what Will could do. What he did. 

“What kind of gun has a diamet-“ He never got to finish before Will smacked him with the edge of the tube, making it whistle as he brought it down. The thief never had a chance, he crumpled to the ground in a mass. 

The pipe made connection with the floor, letting Will lean on it.

“Are you two fine?” 

The teen was the first to speak up. “Yes.” Lady Murasaki stroked the side of his head, nodding. She was shaking, trembling against him, trying to find balance to restore her center.  
“Listen, you’ll need to call the police.” He pushed the gun away further from the burglar as if expecting him to wake up and reach for it. Odds are by the sound of the way that the pipe connected with his cranium he wouldn’t be getting up. If he was lucky. If not, then his fate rested with Hannibal, and his curiosity. Medically speaking. 

“Of course.” His aunt hastily agreed. Tears welling up in her eyes, the reaction that she was holding back had finally started to appear. And inversely, Will Graham looked like he was ready to dissipate into the evening. Not staying for the police looked a lot like avoidance. Hannibal’s own theories started to materialize, on a possible criminal record, on a possible problem with the law. That itself fueled his own reaction. 

Standing up he stretched out his hand, and expectantly waited to the tube. Will looked between him and the weapon he was grasping. It took a moment, but he slowly reached out and handed it to him. As if uncertain if he could trust him with it. The transference of power was enough to draw an internal satisfaction so great Hannibal had to physically suppress so it wouldn’t appear on his face. 

“It’s probably best if you weren’t here when we do.”


	2. Arrival

They didn’t call the police. Hannibal said he would, told his aunt he did before she went upstairs to soothe her nerves. He had different plans from the beginning – he pulled the spineless mass on the floor into the subfloor of the garage, binding him using course rope, to the fixtures in the floor that helped with nothing to the structure, simply adding space to place a seating arrangement which would never exist. The effort required was greater than he had anticipated, the dead weight of the body made it a much more difficult job. Not to mention the pressing reality that his uncle could return home, or his aunt catch him in the act.

For a man who was supposed to blend into the shadows he wasn’t doing a good job. Underneath the black raincoat a blue workman’s suit peaked through. Pulling back the dark gore-tex he recognized the familiar cut of the boat yard workers. Leaning in slightly he could pick up the smell of salt, tobacco (most likely from the proprietor), and grease. 

Reaching over the man’s head he pulled up the mask, revealing a teenager. No older than Hannibal himself. Granted he had growth on his jawline that made him appear at least four years older, but Hannibal was sure he couldn’t have been older than his own seventeen years. 

Dropping the mask on the floor Hannibal pushed back the teen’s head against the wood pillar behind him to examine his face. He hadn’t seen this boy in his school, granted he could have been in a year below him, but it was unlikely. Probably a drop out.

Pale, a labourer’s forehead, with ball-shaped eyes. Pink flesh, not yet rid of the baby fat that clung to his chin and cheekbones. Acne scars colored almost every curve of his face, some recent still reddish in their hue. Others dulled becoming an unremarkable mix of brown and pink. His hair a faint blonde, as weak as his constitution. 

He probably had family at home, there would be an investigation. The challenge excited Hannibal, it could also serve as a test run. 

His mind stretched at the canvas being offered to him. No doubt he could do something that could catch the attention of Louisiana’s finest, provide them as well as him as a favorable past time to the mundane habits that ruled his schedule. 

As well as teach this pest a thing or two about the value of etiquette. 

The day passed as slowly as he calculated it to. Every class swam by without his notice as his mind simmered over the possibilities to attend to when he arrived home. He first had to attend to Graham, he hadn’t finished his work on the boat, but he knew well enough that was an excuse. 

He wanted to see the man again, to speak with him. A small part of him wondered what his reaction would be if he revealed who he had tied up in the lower levels of the garage. Would he know him? Would he try to help his colleague? 

The thought disgusted him. Will helping the bandit escape caused an irritation to build where his intrigue lay. It would make him ordinary, lacklustre. 

After school finished Hannibal returned home, only to find the familiar pick up stalled near the garage, with the messy man leaning against it. Hannibal’s insides froze, he didn’t expect him to have arrived so soon. He had expected to have an hour before he made the call to invite him back. 

The worker was in the subfloor below, so there wasn’t a chance that he’d see him. But if he was awake, he might hear him. 

That was a chance he didn’t want take. 

“What is it that brings you here Will?” Hannibal feigned ignorance. 

“I never did finish on the boat.” Will replied, his hands twitched as he inspected them. 

Hannibal nodded, working up a lie that could sound truthful. Saying that it wasn’t important anymore wouldn’t work in the long run. His uncle would call the boat yard, and ask why his Roxanne wasn’t purring like she did before. The deception would bite him in the ass. 

Attempting to convince Will that it was fixed already would lead to the same conclusion. He had no other suitable distraction. It didn’t look like he brought his dog, so it didn’t look like he could injure it discreetly and force Will to take it to a vet. 

He really should have gagged the nuisance. 

“Right.” He noted. Unmoving from his position, Will looked up waiting for the appropriate reaction to lead to the garage. Hannibal did no such thing, he stood stagnant. 

“Before that, would you care for some tea?” 

The invitation wasn’t what the bespectacled man had in mind. In fact he met his eyes for the first time today, trying to figure out if he had any secondary motive. Hannibal relished the moment, to have someone look into him and think or at least try to, from his perspective. Will looked unsure, meaning he might have sensed something, solely from an animalistic instinct. Will didn’t have problems with intrusion. 

“I don’t believe I’m good company for that sort of thing.”

“I disagree. Consider it thanks for yesterday.”

The mechanic looked wary, but approached him. Hannibal’s nerves relaxed, he had gotten him away from his objective. He also managed to expanse the time he spent with the man. All in all, it worked to his advantage. 

Leading Will into the home he watched as he took in his surroundings. It was surely more expensive than his lodgings, they certainly had the same effect on Hannibal when he first arrived. Now it was welcome, comforting. 

“Your Uncle, what does he do?” Will asked, eyes inspecting every frame that hung on the wood paneled walls. 

“He invests. With companies, he used to work with Wall Street in New York. When he was a younger man.” 

Will made a sort of understanding noise in the back of his throat. 

“Broker by day, lover of fine art by night.” Will joked. 

Hannibal’s lips twitched. He didn’t know if he included his aunt within his definition of fine art. But most likely he did. Will didn’t seem like the type to make simple jests. 

“Yes.” He replied easily enough. 

From corridor to kitchen was a smooth transition, Hannibal poured water into the kettle and set it on the stove. 

“Did you mention me to the police?” Will asked eventually. Hannibal looked at the man’s crooked posture over the island. 

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t bother calling, he was worried about himself. Or maybe just interested as he was. 

“No.” Hannibal answered truthfully. Will’s shoulders relaxed, as he brought up his eyes up to chin and not any higher. Hannibal was struck with a curious thing. He wanted to play with the man’s perception. It was risky, but he knew he’d get of this one. 

“Because they never arrived.”

Will’s attention snapped to him with such ferocity that Hannibal felt compelled to take a step back. There was a new power in his eyes that didn’t buckle to him.  
“Why didn’t you?” His voice dropping in pitch, laced with disbelief. The room had gone cold, whatever amiability that it held seeped out. 

The teenager forced himself to look down and placed his face against his hands to mask the smile that was spreading on his face as the idea dawned on him. Forcing himself to look somewhat distressed, and reluctant to share the information. 

Raising his face from his hands, he presented his best concerned face. “It’s best if you didn’t know.” 

“No, I think I really should.” Will asserted. His chest heaving slowly. 

“Will let me take care of this. You saved my aunt and myself. It’s the only way I can think of paying you back for what you did.”

“What happened?” Will hissed out, his eyes unmoving from Hannibal’s. He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, this was proving far more entertaining than he thought it would.  
“Let me take care of it.” Hannibal insisted, staying on the other side of the island. 

“Mr. Lecter, with all due respect, if you say you owe me as much as you do, then you owe me an explanation.”  
With his best efforts, Hannibal dressed his face in the finest worry he could reproduce. 

“I was going to call. It was then when I realized he wasn’t breathing. I turned him over to see the blood from his head. He had a skull fracture Will, he wouldn’t have lasted all the way to the hospital. I’ve seen cases like his before. You would have been charged Will. He didn’t have a weapon.”

Will’s eyes rounded in fear, stepping back. The whistle from the teapot rang through the kitchen. 

“My aunt wouldn’t lie to the judge. Her honor is possibly the single most important thing to her. Other than my uncle.”

Stepping back he gathered two glasses and poured the hot water in, then dropping the tea bags. A poor substitute for the real thing, but he’d live. He pushed a cup to Will who looked paler than the tiled floor. 

“Drink before you faint.” He instructed. To his satisfaction Will did exactly as he asked. 

“Are you sure?” He asked before he drank. “What- This isn’t right.”

He stumbled over his words. 

_No, no, no Will. Don’t._

“You should have still notified them. This makes it worse, it would have been a simple arrest, now you got yourself involved.”

Hannibal relaxed. 

“Think nothing of it.” He assured, drinking from the cup that warmed his hand. 

“What did you do with the body?”

A few suggestions played behind his eyes. 

“Dropped it off at Hayworth’s farm.” Hayworth was a pig farmer, the implication had been obvious that he threw the body in with their daily feed. They would make short work of human bone.  
Will stood with his eyes glazed over. Hannibal walked beside the man and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“You saved us. I’m simply repaying the favor.”

*

Will Graham left after that, he didn’t speak to him the entire time. He simply stood in the kitchen – staring off into the cabinets that hung from the ceiling. To say that Hannibal was worried was putting it mildly. After the rush of adrenaline ended, he felt compelled to rewind time. He should have saved that for a later time.  
Relaxing on the bench within the garage he breathed in. The thief was still unconscious, but the whole area smelled heavily of blood. Something the mechanic would have noticed no doubt.  
His only hope was that Graham prized his freedom more than his adherence to the law. He barely drank any of the tea. Not to mention he forgot all about the boat. He’d return, if he didn’t, he’d find him again.

Rolling his lower lip within his mouth he recreated what had transpired in his mind. William Graham had so few filters when it had come to his expressions it was almost childlike how easily he could read him. Closing his own eyes he played it back. 

Every nervous, and enraged spasm in the man’s face imprinted. 

“HELP!” Rasped a voice from below. Hannibal was shaken from his walk through his memories. 

“HELP ME!” Ironic that he called him with this request. 

Standing to his feet he walked down to the temporary holding pen of this delinquent.

“You – gotta help me.”

“Gotta?” Mimicked Hannibal. “Got to? No.”

The acne ridden teen’s brown dropped to about the same level as his intelligence. 

“Why not? Whoever’s got me, he’ll get you. We’d stand a better chance of-“He stopped when he recognized the lax stance that Hannibal had been standing in. 

“You-”. He couldn’t continue. He simply raised a condemning finger at him, shaking with fear.

“Me.” Hannibal agreed. 

“You can’t keep me here forever-“ 

Hannibal interrupted him. “I do not intend to keep you here long.”

What are you going to do to me?” A shaky voice whispered, his whole body scrunching itself together, as if trying to be a smaller target. 

“That remains to be seen.” Hannibal tugged up his trousers before he squatted down to get a better look at his prey. 

Hannibal’s eyes smiled, pulling his mouth to do the same. Whatever condition he had, the young thief knew he wouldn’t like the answer to it. However he couldn’t stop himself from asking:  
“What does?”

“If you answer some of my questions.”

The blonde haired teen nodded his head quickly. 

Hannibal’s smile became curt. He would have appreciated some back-chat, rather than this spine-less compliance. 

“You work at the boat yard off Willow drive, am I correct?”

The boy nodded eagerly. 

“Do you know of a man named Will Graham?” 

Again the boy nodded. “He’s a bit of an oddball.” He volunteered the information. 

“Your meaning?” Hannibal asked. He knew Will was out of the ordinary, but maybe he didn’t have all the facts. 

“Well, he arrived out of nowhere, no one knows who he really is or what he really does. But he knows his motors. It’s just –“

“Just what?” Hannibal pushed. 

“He doesn’t know the job very well. He knows the technical, but we had to explain all the duties to him. It’s like it was his first time at a yard.” 

_“ How long have you been in this profession?”  
“All my life.”_

Clearly, William lied. 

The sharpness of Hannibal’s eyes told the teen to continue. 

“Sort of like a hobbyist who decided to try the life on.” He added. 

Filing the information away Hannibal continued. “Continue.’ 

His prisoner warmed up, as if he had promised him freedom. 

“He leaves last. Arrives last, but you know I think he’s just always there – like he watches us.”

Hannibal’s head turned. This was taking an interesting twist. 

“Why would he watch you?”

“Why does it matter to you? He’s a freak-“ He didn’t get to finish the sentence when Hannibal’s hand wrapped itself around his throat. 

“No need for name calling. I asked you a simple question.”

The burglar whimpered beneath his hold.

“My boss smuggles for one of the local drug productions.” He confessed, his voice begging for Hannibal to let him go. And he did. Slowly.

“We always assumed Graham was a snitch for the police. Hannibal’s breathing hitched, for the second time today his blood ran cold.

“Tell me more about this enterprise.”

*

Lewis, the neighbourhood nosy nitwit, also known as the offending miscreant tied up in the garage’s basement had offered more information than he thought possible. He had the inner working of one of the city’s most successful businesses. He gathered the different ins and outs of it fairly easily. 

The boy did not take much convincing. He was a coward, Hannibal didn’t get to implement any of his torture. It all ran a halt when his uncle returned home. He gagged the teen and closed him in. He’d kill him later, for now he needed to find out if Will indeed was a snitch. Or just from a rival drug lord. 

He knew deep inside that Will was not the latter. Had he been he would have killed Lewis, not injured him. Nor would he be in any way concerned about the law. Snitch was probably closer to truth. All he would have to do is in essence follow Mr.Graham. 

Which is why he was sitting in his black Volvo watching the exit. Stakeouts were not his favorite sport. He nearly fell asleep thrice and resorted to playing with the radio half way into the sit out. Eventually he saw Graham slinking off from the yard and into his pickup.

Getting his Ford to start runningtook a few tries, but the gray automobile came to life, and drove out, head lights on. Hannibal kept his off as he shadowed the car. 

Eventually the car rolled into a parking lot, the plaque on it made his stomach sink to the bottom. 

Police Department. Will left his car and entered the building. What was odd was the nonchalance with which he walked in. It wasn’t the pace of a man who felt guilty, nor was it the kind that he felt intimidated by it. 

Hannibal hurriedly parked in a nearby area. Crossing the street he started to get second thoughts, perhaps Will wouldn’t pull him into it. If he got through with this without any arrest, he would cease any impulsive thought that rang through his body. Making the first few steps crowded out his confusion. He knew what he needed to do. 

The inside of the building was about as clean as an alley way. The once white walls were covered in grime, and the dented floor didn’t help with the atmosphere of the building. He stood out like a sore thumb, attracting the short brunette who sat behind the counter. She was the typical secretary, only she was in uniform, with a stern look crossed on his face. Nothing welcoming about it. 

“Can I help you?”

Hannibal was never the type to turn down an offer. 

“I’m looking for a man about yay tall.” He gestured a few centimeters below his own height. “Brown curled hair, glasses-“

“Do you mean Will Graham?”

His eyes rounded. They do know him. 

He nodded his head once in affirmation. 

She looked like she swallowed a lemon. Picking up the clunky plastic receiver she spoke as clearly as she could, and as far as Hannibal guessed, as much annoyance she could muster.

“Could you inform Detective Graham that there’s a …” She put a hand over the phone, and leaned in to speak with Hannibal. 

_Detective_

“Lecter.” Hannibal supplied, still somewhat in a daze. 

“Mr.Lecter here to speak with him.” 

It didn’t take long for Hannibal to see the crown of Will’s curls travelling above the short separating walls of the precinct. And it didn’t take long for him to stand in front of him with an equal surprise to what Hannibal knew was displayed upon his face.

_Detective William Graham._


End file.
